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"How are you holding up, sweetheart?" Vivian held her at arm’s length so she could look her in the face.
Colleen shrugged. "Okay, I guess. One foot in front of the other."
"And after you've been through so much already." Vivian's brow furrowed as her brown eyes reflected genuine concern. "You were so good to come back and help your dad after all of that. I know it meant the world to him that you moved back home."
Colleen gave a grim smile. She didn't bother to point out that other than her job as an ER nurse at St. Vincent's, there wasn't much to keep her in Billings anymore.
"I'm just happy I was able to be here for him, and Mom too."
Vivian's concerned gaze slid over to Eileen, who was weeping softly as Dory Patton clasped her hand in both of hers. "She's so lucky to have you and your brother. She's going to need you now more than ever."
Colleen fanned herself as she made her way over to the sliding glass door along the back wall of the family room. She opened it up, sighing in relief as a cool breeze drifted through the screen. Even with the temperature outside in the mid-fifties, with a hundred or so bodies wandering through the bottom floor of her parents' house meant that the temperature inside was damn near tropical.
As she looked at the crowd of family and friends, she noticed most of the men had removed their sport coats and beads of sweat were forming on the foreheads of men and women alike.
She took a few moments to enjoy the air, then went to check on her mother who was sitting in a leather armchair next to the thankfully dormant fireplace. Colleen's French Bulldog, Frankie, was curled up at her feet. Well, technically Frankie was Colleen's—she had gotten the now nine-month-old puppy to help fill the Gregory-sized hole in her life. But shortly after she had moved back to Big Timber, Frankie had attached himself to Eileen's side.
Eileen theorized that it was because Frankie was a sensitive soul who understood that she needed emotional support.
Colleen theorized that it was because Eileen snuck most of her meals off her plate and into Frankie's waiting mouth. Poor thing was getting so fat Colleen was afraid he was going to develop doggie diabetes.
It took her awhile to make it the twenty feet across the room as she was stopped by several people along the way. By the time she made it to her mother, her mouth felt frozen into an awkward smile and her shoulders were stiff from having to respond to condolences about her father's death—and also for what her mother's friend Susan referred to as Colleen's "change in circumstances."
Yeah, I guess that's one way to put it.
Finally, she made it over to her mother, who despite the warmth of the house, had an afghan thrown over her lap. At her feet, Frankie raised his head for a scratch, letting out an appreciative grunt when Colleen obliged.
Aunt Margaret was kneeling in front of her, saying something, but Eileen looked like she was having trouble following the conversation.
She was about to chalk it up to the haze of grief until she saw her mother reach out to the table next to her and pick up a half-full glass of chardonnay.
Uh-oh. There'd been one glass almost immediately when they got home—that her mother had quickly refilled. She watched now as her mother drained the rest of this one, then handed it to Margaret. Margaret promptly trotted off, presumably for another refill.
"How are you doing, Mom?" Colleen rested her hand on her mother's shoulder, trying not to wince at the feel of bone poking through the silk of her dress.
"As well as I can be, I suppose."
Was it just her, or did her suppose come out more like "shuppose?" Oh, and yep, there it was, the lip lick. The unmistakable tell that her mother was over the legal limit. Colleen knew because she did the same thing after a third glass of wine.
Then Margaret was back with the wine which her mother received like Jesus having his first drink of water after forty days in the desert.
Her hand twitched to snatch it out of her mother's hand, but she stopped herself. Lord knew she'd drowned enough of her sorrows in bottles of cabernet over the past year. Who was she to deny her mother the same? However, she did need to do something before they had a real situation on their hands, and before her mother woke up tomorrow with a wicked hangover.
"Mom, have you had anything to eat today?"
"I haven't quite made it over to the dining room yet," she replied, confirming Colleen's suspicions.
Not that she was surprised. In the months since she'd moved back home, Colleen hadn't seen her mother eat anything resembling a normal meal. From what she could tell, Eileen survived on the calories from the cream in her morning coffee and in the glass or two of wine she consumed every evening.
It was a diet Colleen was very familiar with.
"From what I saw, there's some really delicious food out there. I'll get you a plate." She retreated before her mother could refuse.
She made her way to the dining room, crowded with people standing around, awkwardly balancing wine glasses and loaded plates as they tried to eat. She spotted Liam at the end of the table.
"What is it with all the casseroles?" he grumbled.
Colleen shook her head as she eyed a beige concoction that appeared to be made with rice, chicken, and some unidentifiable pale green bits. Lima beans? Olives? Her roiling stomach told her she shouldn't try to find out.
